


Glimpses

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Genre: Background Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-06
Updated: 2004-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-29 12:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14472981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: Five things that never happened to Mal Reynolds. Alt-U.





	Glimpses

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Cussing: slight spoilers for the whole series. Angst and dark themes.

  
Author's notes: Cussing: slight spoilers for the whole series. Angst and dark themes.  


* * *

Glimpses

## Glimpses

Notes: Written the Two by Two e-Zine for bonibaru by KirbyCrow. Laurie is the horse goddess, and Cabiria and Liss the beta queens, with smooches to Moth, Becc, and Aly. Thanks to all those others who listened to me moan about the whole gen thing. 

* * *

1\. 

He didn't mean to say it; it had just slipped out. Simon's eyes went wide, stunned. Mal wasn't sure if it was shock from the near rescue or from what he just said. 

He supposed it was too much to ask for that the memory of the former would erase the later comment. While he was at it, he supposed it would be too much to ask for time to go backwards and give him a chance to not say what he just said. 

About a million expressions crashed over Simon's face. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Mal braced himself. 

"You're _what_?" Simon finally squeaked out. 

Mal had the grace to blush at that. "Sorry, Simon..." he began, then a raised hand stopped him. 

"No," Simon shook his head disbelievingly. "I heard you. I just...you abandoned us. You've hit me, you've ignored me, and you've pretty much given out the impression that you could not care less about me. And did I mention the abandoning? From this, I'm supposed to deduce that you're in _love_ with me?" 

"Simon, I didn't mean to..." 

"Spare me, Mal." Simon sighed. "I'm going to try and forget this conversation ever took place." 

Mal's jaw dropped. "But, Simon..." 

Simon glared back. "Did you think I would fall into your arms, just because you came striding out to rescue us all heroically? I was prepared to die, you know." Simon rubbed his forehead. Mal's fingers twitched. "I gave up everything for River, and when you...when I saw Serenity leave, I figured I had nothing left but her." Sudden heat and passion flared in Simon's eyes. 

"I was going to die." 

Simon sighed, and the intensity passed. "I can't deal with you, Mal. I have my sister, you have your ship. As much as I appreciate you taking us in, and I really, really appreciate the rescue, there is nothing in the _tamade_ 'verse that will find me in your bed." Blue eyes met Mal's, showing him nothing but truth. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a headache. Please convey my apologies to the rest of the crew, but I doubt I'm up to dinner." 

Simon turned stiffly, and disappeared into his dorm. Mal gathered up the remains of his dignity, and strode upstairs, alone. 

2\. 

Book walked into the kitchen, and paused when he saw Captain Freeland sitting at the table, drinking out of a battered mug. The grey haired man glanced up, and offered a grin. "Ah, Shepherd. Come in." 

"I was afraid I might be bothering you," Book replied, a little surprised at the invitation. 

"Really?" 

"It is late, Captain." 

Freeland nodded. "That it is. Did you want something?" 

"Nothing. Well, not in particular. I was curious, though, now that we have a chance to talk." 

"Really? About me?" The captain's eyes crinkled. Book considered how hard the man was to read, and decided to plunge ahead with his question. 

"About this ship." 

"It's the same question, Shepherd." 

"Really? Then the name...?" 

"No, the name is no coincidence." 

Book absorbed that bit of information, and ran his fingers through his ash-blonde hair. A piece fell out of his ponytail, and tickled his nose. He pushed it behind his ears, and looked up when Freeland spoke again. 

"Do you mind if I ask a question now, Shepherd?" 

"Not at all," Book replied, almost defensively. The captain had made his antagonism clear, and he really wasn't in the mood to defend his faith. 

"Why did you take passage on Serenity, if the thought...the memory, perhaps, makes you so uncomfortable?" 

Not the question he was expecting, by any means. Book answered flippantly, "A pretty girl asked me a question." 

"I thought your order was one of the stricter ones." Freeland's eyes were still narrowed in mirth. Book realized that he was being mocked, and decided that he could play that game as well. 

"It is. But your mechanic is hard to resist. Seems to me that no power in the 'verse could keep Kaylee from being cheerful." 

"There has got to be more reason than that, I'm sure." Oh, the captain was insistent. Book moved to the counter, and began to gather supplies for tea. 

Freeland's eyes were boring holes in the back of his neck. Book continued, unable to look the captain in the eyes quite yet. "When I saw the ship, I felt..." His voice trailed off, considering. 

"Yes?" Freeland prompted. 

Tea done, he turned back to the table. "It's hard to explain. I felt drawn." 

The captain made a derogatory sound. "You think I wouldn't understand?" 

"You've made your...distaste...of what I represent pretty clear." The tea was tepid and weak, but still fortifying. Book swallowed another mouthful. 

"Ah, that." 

"Yes, that." 

Freeland leaned forward, suddenly all seriousness. "Tell me, Shepherd. You were on Hera, weren't you?" 

Book was taken aback by the sudden shift in mood. "I was at Serenity Valley," he nodded, slowly. 

"Independent or Alliance?" 

"Independent." 

Freeland nodded in reply. "Not surprising. I was there, too. Alliance, you might have guessed." 

"I kind of figured." Book wasn't surprised by the revelation as much as he was surprised by the suddenness of it. He stood and watched, as the captain tented his fingers, and elaborated. 

"Hm. Well, once the surrender was announced, our side celebrated. We celebrated like you wouldn't have believed. That was the first night. By the second, we were wondering, the third, concerned. By the fourth, we were dying. 

"I'm sure it was worse on your side of the valley, Shepherd. But the waste, the absolutely senseless waste of human life, of all that potential snuffed out, because of treaty clauses? I had no faith left in any higher power." Freeland paused, and looked at his hands. Book let him search for answers in his shaded skin, in the wood of the table, and felt sorry for the older man. Freeland was so close to what he had almost become. 

"Faith is what got me through those days, Captain." 

The captain looked up, apparently back from his dark memories. Book saw an echo of pain in his eyes. This wasn't easy for him. He felt the weight of his silver cross burning underneath his shirt. He continued. "Don't get me wrong. I didn't find my vocation on Hera. I didn't find it on the medships, nor on Luseh, where they unceremoniously dumped us afterwards." 

Genuinely curious, now, Freeland asked, "Where, then?" 

"I found it in nightmares. Nightmares with smoke and blood and stench and death and the roaring of fire." He drained his tea, trying to wash the taste of remembered ashes away. Dredging up these memories wasn't a good idea; he craved something stronger. "I came to terms with it the only way I could. I left my only friend behind, to seek out her own life, and entered the seminary." 

"And you took the name Book?" 

"I was hoping to be rewritten." _Please, God,_ he thought, _I can't face his nightmares and mine. Give me strength._

Freeland backed off a bit. Book sighed in relief. "Has it happened?" 

"Somewhat. I seem to keep falling onto bits of my past, though. You, for example." 

A small smile passed across the captain's face. "Do you mind me asking, Shepherd, were you...?" 

"An officer? NCO, yes. Sergeant, as a matter of fact. But you know the losses as well as I do, likely. You can imagine how many soldiers I commanded by the end." 

"I know. I can." Freeland looked less arrogant, older. Book had no illusions; it was unlikely that the captain had found any faith during this conversation, but it looked like the two of them had reached an understanding. 

"It's why I don't sleep well. I should leave you, it is really late." He rinsed his mug, and began to leave the room, when Freeland stopped him with his voice. 

"Before you go, Shepherd. I have a small confession to make." Book paused on the threshold, and turned back, sure that his blue eyes showed surprise. 

"A confession?" 

Freeland's eyes were crinkled in amusement again. "Nothing 'verse-shattering or anything. More of a bit of...trivia, you might say." 

Book waited, arms crossed. "You've got me interested, Captain." 

"Would it surprise you to know that I used to think I had a vocation as well?" Freeland looked expectantly at Book. He just raised his eyebrows as he replied. 

"Not terribly; nobody who lived through Serenity Valley emerged quite the same afterwards." 

"No, we didn't. But I thought you might be curious why I'm letting you stay on my ship." Freeland turned, brown eyes boring into Book's. 

"The question had crossed my mind." It was hard to keep his face impartial, but Book managed to convey quiet interest. 

"I find you fascinating because, when I thought I would go into the priesthood, I considered taking the name Book as well." 

3\. 

They called him Satan. 

They called the horse Satan as well, but for slightly different reasons. 

Malcolm Reynolds was not precisely a hellion; his mama had raised him well. But there were moments, moments when the temptation was too great for him to resist. Malcolm was a good boy, just prone to occasional big pranks. 

Like this morning. 

It was Sunday, early, and practically everyone was at church. The sky was clear, and the sun was pleasantly warm across Malcolm's shoulders. Earlier, he had pleaded a headache, and Rebecca Reynolds had looked at him, a slight frown creasing her forehead. 

Malcolm held his breath. 

"Very well." Then she had turned, all shined up for church, and Malcolm was alone in the house. 

Of course, he didn't _stay_ in the house long; he was almost 15 years old (six weeks and counting down), and Malcolm had a plan. And the plan involved Banner. 

Banner. Malcolm thought that was a pretty good name for a horse. Especially one as tall as this one. Some quality blood had seeped into the line somewhere along the way, and the chestnut got to stand out almost a whole hand taller than the other horses. 

Banner, who had been tempting Malcolm for almost four years now. 

When Banner had foaled, Malcolm had been there, and he was sure he felt a real connection. It had been the first time he had helped out, and while Malcolm was exhausted when he had finally collapsed into his bed, he could still remember the vivid dreams of riding around the ranch on the full grown horse. 

It was soon apparent to the ranch hands, however, that Banner was almost too smart for his own good. "Satan with a satin coat," was how Martha referred to him. She and Amos had trained the colt for cutting, cow herding. It took a special kind of brains for a horse to do that. Unfortunately, that type of training tended to make a horse ornery and far too independent for practically anything else. 

Malcolm was convinced of his connection with Banner. After all, every time he passed through the stables, he'd bring a treat: a carrot, some apple, a bit of sweet-feed. Nobody really minded, because Banner worked hard, and Malcolm worked hard. It wasn't a problem if they had a friendship. 

Except to Malcolm's mind. 

See, his issue wasn't that Amos and Martha got to ride Banner. It was that he wasn't allowed. And that just didn't seem fair. After all, he'd been riding since he was walking, practically, and cutting for the past seven years. Everyone said he had a natural talent when it came to controlling some of the horses. 

Not Banner, though. Banner was off limits. Too smart. Too fast. Too strong. Too ornery. 

Satan. 

Malcolm approached Banner's stall, quietly. Banner whickered in greeting, and chuffed over Malcolm's hair, looking for treats. Malcolm handed him a carrot, and quickly saddled up the horse, with only one strange glance and snort from Banner. 

"Hush you. We're just going for a quick ride." 

Girths checked, stirrups adjusted, Malcolm led Banner out into the sun. The horse shook his mane, and followed docilely. When Malcolm mounted, there was a moment of tension, but soon, the two were trotting out towards the far fields. 

It was just like his dream. Malcolm gloried in the sun, the air, the general "rightness" of everything. He couldn't possibly see ever leaving the ranch. This was where he belonged. 

"C'mon, boy, let's go for a run." 

Malcolm's heels bumped against Banner's side, and with a bit of a curvet, the horse took off, flying along the low, stone wall. Malcolm leaned down, exhilarated enough to give a shout. 

The shout turned to startlement, suddenly, when he tried to rein in. Banner had the bit in his teeth, and wasn't about to let go. He wasn't about to listen to Malcolm's commands, either. Wind was rushing in a torrent past Malcolm's ears as he tried to regain control of the situation. 

Of course, Malcolm wasn't panicking. He was way too smart to do that. But he was surprised when Banner made his rapid turn to the left, because his body decided to go to the right. When the horse reared, Malcolm felt his foot twist out of the stirrup, and decided that falling on his ass would be better than a shattered or badly strained ankle. 

A few thoughts went through Malcolm's head as he was thrown. One was, _my ma's gonna kill me,_ another was, _well, that wasn't a smart thing to do,_ and a third was _gotta get back on the horse sooner or later._ He twisted his body, thankful he knew how to take a fall; a few big bruises were going to be the least of his worries. 

The last thing he heard was the sickeningly loud crack when he struck the wall. 

4\. 

Mal sat on the low wall, and stared at the chit in his hand. 

Winner. 

Unbelievable. 

A one-credit lark, and now he had a large chunk of land on an outer planet, and free passage besides. 

It wasn't what he had gone out to buy. He had lied to Zoe, told her he was going out for...hell, he didn't even remember now. But Mal had aimed for the shipyard, hoping to find some deal, some bargain, some way off this shithole of a planet. 

He had a spare credit, and a small bit of perversity welled up when he bought the lotto ticket from the tired-looking woman. Bored, she ran the numbers through, yawned, and handed him a chit. 

Neither of them had noticed at first. She had been running numbers without result for three days, and Mal had no reason to believe he had any luck left. But the quiet and frantic beeping from the machine made Mal pause before he left the table. 

Winner. 

He was supposed to go to the docks in two days, with his family, and up to one hundred kilos of personal items. Mal snorted at that thought. All he and Zoe owned were their credits, their guns, and the clothes on their backs. 

And now, a small, velvet box. 

Mal flipped it open, and looked at the ring inside. Plain, unadorned. It was the only one he thought Zoe might ever wear. Platinum, the jeweler said. Strongest metal ever on Earth-That-Was. Strong enough for Zoe, he hoped. 

He sighed, and glanced once more at the used ship lot. He could still buy a really small, cheap one. Or he could use his credits to set up a life. A farm, maybe even a ranch. 

Mal stood, and slipped the box carefully into his pocket, next to the precious lotto chit. He turned back to the town, and hoped that Zoe was still in their room at the boarding house. He wasn't sure he'd have the guts to ask the question for much longer. 

5\. 

It hadn't taken much campaigning to get a war hero elected to the provisional government. The Veterans of Serenity Valley had put up a fund, and between the thousands of them, had greased enough palms that the election had practically been in the bag months before the results were in. 

Never let it be said that Malcolm Reynolds wasn't a pragmatist. 

Idealism died young on the battlefield; Mal pondered that as he studied the young doctor's files. The young man himself stood in front of the tribunal, charged with crimes against the state. 

"Now, Doctor," Mal flipped briefly to the front of the folder, "Tam, is it?" 

Doctor Tam nodded, stoically. 

"Son, do you realize the seriousness of this inquiry?" Another nod. Mal looked at the other two judges. They were engrossed in paperwork. It was his show. These tribunals most often were. 

"The evidence here is, quite frankly, damning." Looking at the handsome young man in front of him, Mal speared him with his eyes. "Kidnapping, treason, obstruction...all this, on top of your prior convictions. What do you have to say in your defense?" 

Simon Tam's blue eyes flashed with defiance. "Treason? I was trying to rescue my sister from torture! She's being experimented on!" 

Mal held up his hand. "Your sister is at a unique school. She is being trained as a special operative for the government. I have a note here, verified by your parents as her handwriting, saying that she has never been coerced, hurt, or otherwise harmed during her schooling." 

Deflated, Doctor Tam muttered, "Brainwashed," when Mal paused for breath. He ignored the comment. 

"Now son, you have been found legally sane by the court-appointed psychiatrist. You have two choices for your plea, Guilty or Not Guilty. And frankly, neither sentence is particularly appealing. But this is your last chance to make any plea, whatsoever." Mal caught the young man's eyes, and attempted to impress the seriousness of the situation upon him. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to seem less callous than the norm, but perhaps there was something in the young Tam's stance that reminded him of his youthful zeal. 

A last surge of fire was quickly repressed, and Simon Tam muttered back, "It really doesn't matter anymore, does it? I mean, I've lost my family, my sister, my career, and all chances for a normal life. I have no plea." He shrugged, and pointed to his files with his chin. "I'm sure there's already a sentence handed down from your superiors, or whoever's in charge of that school, anyway, and this is all just a charade." Mal hardened, prepared for some pro-Alliance vitriol; after all, it was usually a final attack, but Tam fell silent. Mal waited, but there was no more. 

That was it, then. "Take him away; judgment will be entered on Tuesday." Mal turned back to his files, and made a small notation as the guards escorted the doctor back to his cell in handcuffs. A glance at the other two judges showed that they agreed with his decision. He sighed. These cases were always the same. 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **Glimpses**   
Author:   **skripka**   [website]   
Details:   **Standalone**  |  **R**  |  **gen**  |  **17k**  |  **05/06/04**   
Characters:  Malcolm, Simon, Book   
Pairings:  only in passing   
Summary:  Five things that never happened to Mal Reynolds. Alt-U.   
Notes:  Cussing: slight spoilers for the whole series. Angst and dark themes.   
  



End file.
